


Writing Tragedies

by DealingDearie



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 04:44:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DealingDearie/pseuds/DealingDearie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The chronicles of Sif and Loki’s complicated relationship, beginning with the darkest envy and ending with the most conflicted hatred.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"A fair, luscious maiden," Thor murmured longingly, smirking as he placed an arm over his brother's thin shoulders, "would do you well, Loki." The trickster, unsteady from the added weight of Thor's arm on him, shook his head and rolled his eyes dramatically.

"And staying away from them would do  _you_  well, brother."

Thor bellowed with his trademark, rambunctious laughter and clapped Loki's shoulder, sending him forward about a foot, and Loki turned his head to the side and gave him a withering stare, green eyes fixed on his smiling face. Thor sobered the slightest and pointed to him, matching their strides together, his eyes bright in the sunshine.

"In all seriousness, though, you  _do_  need a woman. It will fix all of your problems."

As they strode across the sparring yard, Loki was careful to watch for beginners, wary of a sword flying his way and maiming him, and his eyes flickered uneasily about the court, his dark hair acting as a stark contrast to Thor's golden mane, stray strands curling in the breeze. The armor that usually clung to him was gone, replaced by a soft cotton undershirt that revealed the taut muscles of his arms and blue trousers that looked faded from time. Loki wore his leather and cotton, green colors appearing on every few inches of his outfit, and he sighed in relief when he realized that the yard was empty, save for the lone onlooker lounging comfortably in the stands, just like she'd been born to take her seat in that exact spot and never leave.

Her hair was pulled tight into a rigid ponytail, her crimson armor catching the rays of sunlight that cascaded down upon her, grey eyes shining from the attention she gained. Thor glanced up to her and smiled in that friendly way of his, waving casually, and she beamed and waved back, her movements excited and quick. Her eyes shifted to where Loki stood, gaze sliding over him like he wasn't even there, and he sighed inwardly.

_Lost again to Thor's shadow._

It was an ongoing battle to not just shove Thor out of the way and take the spotlight for himself, but as the second and youngest son, Loki had no choice in who looked at him and who didn't, who noticed him and who simply didn't care-which was most of the Asgardian population. He pretended like the action didn't bother him and continued walking, counting on Thor to catch up with him when he was ready, and he was completely unsurprised when Thor never did come back to his side. Sif had yet again stolen Thor's attention, and Loki found himself seething with rage, an uncontrollable feeling that spread through his veins like liquid flame, searing his senses and darkening his thoughts. His was a rare jealousy, the kind that sat and settled and resurfaced at the most inopportune moments, the kind that raged about in the head and took over the mind and destroyed every last bit of sanity left.

Only when he made it to his room did Loki allow himself the relief of pressing the heels of his palms to his closed eyelids, willing his mind to simply cease, willing his thoughts to turn to better things. He leaned against his door and slid down, body shaking as he tried to avoid the inevitable envy that coiled around him and suffocated every innocent breath he had within his choked, struggling lungs, and he inhaled deeply, a rattling sound echoing throughout his chambers.

For how long he remained there, crouched with his face hanging in his palms as if some great shame had come and washed over him, Loki wasn't certain, and only the pounding that sounded at his door broke his concentration on the task. He looked up and felt cold, dried tears on his cheeks, blinking away the haze covering his mind.

"Loki," came Thor's concerned timbre, the deep rumble of his changing, shifting voice reaching past the walls Loki'd so hastily constructed around himself. As teenagers, it was their duty to go and be festive and banquets and such, to not only boost the social activity in Asgard but to give the population a chance at rising. Loki doubted he'd meet any girl any time soon, doubted it entirely, but Thor was all too eager for a chance at a fun night, and his rapping became more persistent as Loki's silence lengthened. Loki narrowed his eyes when he realized that it was dark outside, that the moon hung high among the glittering, winking stars. It had been daylight in Asgard when he'd stalked off to his room, and he swallowed thickly.

"Loki, we don't need to be late. Now, come out of there." The trickster rolled his eyes and gingerly rested the back of his head against the wide golden door, closing his eyes with a small, soundless sigh, and he shook his head as Thor continued to pester him.

"The  _women_ , Loki, they call to me. We  _must_  go."

 _"Thor! We_ MUST _go!"_

_Loki sounded frantic, his voice strained as he fought off the Frost Giants at his back and all around him, pitching his daggers left and right as he struggled through the masses to reach the thunder god, who thoughtlessly cut down all that came his way, relishing in the taste of battle, smiling arrogantly as he threw Mjolnir, its silver bulk whistling through the air. Eyes round and scared, Loki looked young again, unburdened and unscathed, and his lips shook as he shouted to his brother one last time, terrified of what was to come. There was nothing else, nothing left to do, nowhere left to go, and it was all Thor's fault. Thor, who was bloodying the icy ground before them all, completely ignorant to the dire situation around him, completely lost in his lust for war. As a roar sounded behind him, as his feet pounded against the rocky, perilous ground beneath them, he heard Thor's battle cry at his back, distant and far and already gone._

_He thought he saw the end, and he closed his eyes._

Loki finally relented and got to his feet, turning to reluctantly open the door as Thor's bright and excited smile assaulted his vision. He blinked, unaccustomed to the hall lighting after so long spent in the darkness of his room, and quickly stepped into the corridor, closing the door behind him and staring, deadpan, at his brother. Thor was an inch or so taller than Loki, and his limbs, rather than being lanky, were well defined from years of conditioning, and his jaw bone jutted out strongly, his eyes bright with the shine of youth and promise of maidens.

Loki, on the other hand, was thin, leaner than Thor and lacking the kind of muscles that the women adored, and so he rarely showed any bit of his skin, more resigned to the quiet, shrouded life of luxury. Thor began walking down the hall and Loki followed, having no trouble with matching his wide, long stride, and he could hear the commotion from the feast hall, loud laughter and music and the dissonant, clashing sound of countless murmurs and shouts and whispers. After dreading the moment for the entire walk, the archway came into Loki's sight, and Thor strutted under its majestic, tall curve proudly, entering the feast room with a great wide grin brightening his features.

Loki slinked along behind him, mainly cloaked in shadow, and veered away from his brother once Thor began to attempt to woo two ladies at once. He chose a nice, darkened corner and stood stiffly within its confines, his appetite completely absent and his mood completely ruined. He could see Odin and Frigga at the front, entertaining the "special" guests and acting completely hospitable and kindly. Sighing, he attempted to tune out the loud laughter, and the urge to wonder to the balcony for some peace and quiet came over him on more than one occasion, but he denied himself the satisfaction.

He'd stay until Thor roamed away to his chambers with a maiden, sometimes two, and follow them until they were all safe in Thor's room, and then he'd stay vigil in his own chambers, waiting for that one moment in the earliest time of the next day when Thor needed things to be taken care of. Those things were ushering the women away, trying to cure the sickness Thor would feel from so much previous intoxication, and struggling to convince Thor that he shouldn't repeat the night's activities.

It was a boring, tedious duty, but someone had to do it.

There was a tinkling, familiar laugh that rose above the rest of the noise in the crowd, snapping Loki out of his reverie as he searched for the source. Loki stared at the top of the large staircase at the front of the room and his pulse quickened, that same dark envy staining his mind.

The Lady Sif had arrived.


	2. Chapter 2

Her pale skin, oddly akin to Loki's own, glowed in the moonlight pouring through the balcony archway, and her grey eyes glittered beneath the attention of the elaborate chandeliers hanging overhead, her dark hair held up by golden pins, with small, curling rivulets of ebony falling upon her bared shoulders, her crimson dress as dark as blood and flowing hypnotically from her hips with even the slightest movement. The golden earrings that Thor had given her as a birthday gift were bright and easily noticed, swaying when she threw her head back to laugh at one of Fandral's jests, the corners of her small mouth turned up with amusement.

He could tell that she wasn't wearing any makeup, and he smirked when the reason finally surfaced in his thoughts. Thor had, around a week ago, made a casual comment about how he favored women with clean, bare faces more than he favored the ones with powdered cheeks and stained lips, and Sif had been walking with the two of them on their way to the library to research new fighting strategies, aware of every word he said. He shook his head; she was always so eager to please him, to be noticed, that it was almost pathetic. He wondered what she would do next-looked forward to it, in fact.

It would give him something to throw back at her later when she felt the need to insult him.

Her eyes shifted from Fandral to where Thor was slowly twirling one of the main visitors, a young and widowed Duchess who had traveled all the way from Vanaheim to see the festivities in Asgard. She had pale silver hair, and her eyes were a very bright blue, her smile more intoxicated than genuine, feet stumbling over each other as she was lazily pulled back into Thor's arms. He was having fun, it seemed, if the glassy shine of his eyes was any indication.

Sif watched them and her jaw muscle tensed, almost imperceptibly, but Loki had excellent vision, and so he saw her shoulders stiffen, too. Politely excusing herself, she walked away from the crowd and Fandral was left alone in the midst of his joke, mouth opened in preparation for the pun, and he frowned, looking around him for another person to entertain. Her slender form disappeared through the archway leading to the balcony, and Loki pushed himself off of the wall he was leaning against, far too curious for his own good.

Sif rarely ever let her emotions get to her, and he desperately wanted to see her vulnerable, if it meant that he could remind her of the moment when she thought to criticize his magic or give him dirty looks for being near Thor. When he thought about it, she really was too jealous, and he could only hope that it would someday come back to haunt her. Blinking, he laughed at himself, silently amused, because the same could be said of him.

Shaking his head, he wormed his way through the milling and drunk crowd, shoving past commoners and royals alike, nose turned up, to climb up the golden staircase and pass beneath the arch. It wasn't hard to find her, hunched over the railing like she had a bad stomach ache, her arms around her middle and her head hanging low, chin resting against her collarbone.

Against the backdrop of the shadowed, glowing city, she seemed almost surreal, almost foreign. How could anything be so sad in a place like that? But he knew all too well just how such sorrow overcame a person in the glorious halls of Asgard, and he carefully stepped forward, wary of alerting her to his presence.

Sif couldn't bare it, the vision of Thor, wonderful, kind, thoughtful Thor, twirling that  _whore_  in his arms like she was his sun and moon and stars.  _She_  should be there, basking in his attention and cradling his heart in her palms. _She_  should be the one in his bed tonight, his arms wrapped around her as they slept, the comforting warmth of his body keeping the cold away from her own. _She_  should be any and all of the women he so often entertained, the ones he took to his chambers when the night was almost over, the ones he claimed to love for just a few hours.

Taking a deep, cleansing breath of the still night air, she let it all out with a heavy, burdened sigh, tears stinging her eyes. She would never be in his favor, no matter what she did. She'd always be the friend, the fighting partner, the maiden at his side for purely platonic reasons.

Even that position was taken, though- occupied by Loki.

The trickster was always around the blonde god, always somewhere in the near vicinity, always a lingering and irritating shadow. She'd never even have the  _time_  to win Thor over, for Loki was  _always_  in the way. The damned boy, constantly being a complete and utter nuisance. Hopeless, she glanced up to gaze longingly at the moon, its bright glow washing over her and coating the balcony in a milky white hue. Maybe if she was more beautiful, like that Duchess, then Thor would take notice of her. Maybe if she was more attractive, like the moon, then he would stare at her for hours. Maybe if she was simply more, then Thor would love her as she loved him, with every last piece of her shattering heart. She closed her eyes to the burn in them and a tear slipped out, sliding down her cheek and leaving a cold trail upon her skin, and she sniffled quietly, shaking her head.

Maybe and someday and hopefully and  _never._

Looking down at the palace gardens right below her, the thought of jumping to those colorful flowers came over her, and she couldn't find a reason to deny it further entrance into her mind. The fall would kill her. Thor wouldn't notice her absence; he didn't even notice her when she was alive and breathing and yearning for him right in front of his face. No one would miss her; the warriors could always find another companion, and their older age would certainly have earned them more friends by now to choose from. Stories would be told of the journeys they made in their young years; she would remain immortal in the text.  
Her eyes widened, and she sighed shakily, her feet acting of their own accord as they climbed up the railing. She swung her bare legs over it, the action made difficult by her constrictive dress, and was chilled by the cold metal against her thighs, blinking away the tears that blurred her vision as the wind swept up around her and dried her face.

At the edge, her back against the railing, she felt almost afloat, as if she was watching herself from somewhere far away, as if she could sit and see her death play out from a different perspective than her own. Distantly, she thought she heard a sound, but she was past the point of caring. She stood on the tips of her toes, widening her arms out at her side, imagining that she could fly like the ravens always alert and watchful at Odin's bedside. Closing her eyes, she leaned away from the railing, letting her feet drop away from the concrete they were perched on, and plummeted to the intricate, maze-like gardens below, the pins blown loose from her hair as her locks tumbled past her, the air fresh and comforting on her skin as it flew against her, the silken fabric of her dress kissing her skin and flowing behind her legs while the wind whistled in her ears. She felt like it was the end, felt like it was her release, and she smiled-

-and landed directly onto the unforgiving concrete of the balcony, her hands planted out in front of her and thankfully able to spare her face from the impact, which knocked the breath out of her lungs as she remained upon the ground, gasping for air.

He'd thought it was quite enjoyable, quite entertaining, to see her so down in the dumps, so melancholy and depressed, all until she'd hopped over the railing and jumped off the edge. Stupid,  _stupid_  girl, for wanting to kill herself like that. Stupid, _stupid_  girl, for wanting Thor so much that the idea of not getting him could turn her suicidal. Stupid,  _stupid_  girl. Leaning against the wall, he stared at her as she struggled for breath, shakily gaining her footing with a bewildered look in her eyes, her hair falling all around her shoulders and framing her marble skin in shadows. She stood on unsteady legs and looked up at him, eyes round and terrified, and stumbled away, confused. With one eyebrow raised, he looked her over, eyes roaming up her body and across the broad expanse of skin that was revealed to him. Her dress was tugged down a bit lower than it had been before, thanks to the wind that had assaulted her during her fall to certain death, and he let himself admire the view. For an annoying, self-centered, and spoiled brat of a girl, she certainly had the looks to make up for her inner flaws-there was no denying that. He found himself entertained by that thought, as well, until Sif rushed over to him, drew back her hand, and slapped him hard across the face, smacking the grin that was forming right off of his mouth.

"How  _dare_  you," Sif hissed, turning to stalk back over to the railing, tears burning her eyes. Loki blinked in shock, feeling the pain in his face just before his rage burned it all away, and his hands curled into fists. He had the sudden urge to punch her in the face, but he hesitated, if only because Frigga would be disappointed with him for striking a woman. For the first and last time in his life, Loki wished that Sif was a man for only a moment, just long enough for him to beat the tears out of her eyes, and he stepped forwardly stiffly, his heart pounding with anger.

"You're welcome, Sif, for saving your life!" Loki shouted, and she swiveled back around to slap a hand over his mouth roughly, fingernails digging into his skin, and he swatted it away, beyond irritated with the woman.

"Keep quiet," she whispered, aggravated, and he smirked, crossing his arms against his chest. He almost wanted to push her off that balcony and give her the death she'd wanted moments ago- so much for  _saving_  her.

"Thor should not have so much power over you, Lady," he murmured lowly, and her eyes widened as she realized that he'd been watching her.

"Devil," she all but growled, walking away to lean against the railing, to get away from him, "how do _you_  know my thoughts?" Her hair flowed past her in the wind's embrace, dark strands tickling her back as they flowed in waves, and he sidled forward, casually curling his fingers around the railing, preparing to catch her if she managed to jump again. She refused to meet his eyes, but he could see the hatred lying in her gaze.

"I know most everything." He shrugged and sent her a sideways glance. " _But_  perhaps I do not know your motives as well as I previously presumed." She turned to him, surprised, and her lips parted. It was the first time she'd ever heard him admit even the possibility that he could be wrong, and her brow drew together.

"Has Thor ever said anything about me to you?" Loki blinked at her and leaned more heavily against the railing, turning to face her with his elbow propped on its aged metal, snickering.

"Let me tell you something about Thor; he's an oaf. Don't waste your time wondering on him," he said seriously, and she stared at him, a sudden and completely unwelcome idea coming to her mind. She tried to rid herself of the thought, but it circled in a permanent motion within her mind, haunting her, and she finally sighed in defeat. He gave her a curious look, and she rolled her eyes with contempt.

"Perhaps…" He was looking at her like she'd grown a third head, and she shrugged beneath his attentive gaze.

"Perhaps you can put me in Thor's favor, mention me to him in a different light to make him see."

He leaned away from her, both assessing and calculating. She'd expected it.

"And what is there for me?" Loki asked slowly, just a bit interested in what she had to say.

"I'm on friendly terms with most of the women at these feasts; I could convince a few of your..."

She looked him up and down, frowning.

" _Charm_."

He had to admit, the prospect of having even one night of entertainment thrilled him; it was an unknown thing, an elusive thing, that had for so long and so often peaked his curiosity. He stared at her, unrelenting in his gaze, and she blinked with discomfort. Smiling, and apparently satisfied with her reaction, Loki offered his hand. Though seemingly disgusted, she grabbed his palm and shook it.

And so the deal was made, and the fact that Loki was always close to Thor could finally be advantageous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please R&R! Feedback of any kind is always appreciated! ;)


	3. Chapter 3

The following weeks saw little progress for both sides of the deal, and Loki was becoming uneasy. Deep into his efforts to open Thor’s eyes to Sif, the warrior was having her own trouble with persuading the local women of Loki’s more attractive qualities, but neither told of their hard luck. The days went by normally, as they would have if Sif had never ran out onto the balcony with her heart aching, eyes shimmering with tears, and Loki liked it that way.

If Thor ever found out what his little brother was doing, Loki’s head would make a nice decoration for Thor’s chambers, and the mischievous trickster wasn’t exactly looking forward to being decapitated by Mjolnir.

Sparring was no different; Thor usually won, save for the times when a new addition to their group, Volstagg (a stocky, older passerby who’d been entertained by Sif’s attempts at defeating Thor and had wanted to try himself), thought he could win against Thor’s hammer. There was hardly a time when someone could, and Loki saw that specific truth shining brightly in Thor’s eyes as he won yet another practice round, and Sif laughed as Volstagg’s ax went flying across the court yard, skidding as it slid over the ground. Silence fell heavy in the air, and Fandral looked around him for a distraction, while Thor leaned against the tree near him, wiping the sweat from his brow as he waved mockingly at Volstagg, wiggling his burly fingers with an arrogant smile. The warrior rolled his eyes and went over to sit on the stands, near to where Sif was lounging, the new armor she’d gotten strapped securely to her body as she stared at Loki. He should have known, really, that there was  _something_  in her eyes, something secret.

“Thor,” she started casually, her voice ringing as the lilt of her accent sounded off alerts in Loki’s head that something was amiss, “perhaps Loki would like a turn at triumph over you?”

Thor sent her an excited, eager smile, and he turned to beckon Loki, who sat, reluctant, at the very far end of the seats, a book splayed open in his lap. He gave Sif a sideways glare and she beamed at him, grinning from ear to ear as the sunlight showcased her teeth.

“Brother, come on!” Thor bellowed, and with a heavy, angered sigh, Loki stood from his perch and lazily made his way to where Thor was standing, feet planted firmly on the court’s ground as he readied his fighting stance, twirling Mjolnir in his grasp.

“Show off,” Loki murmured tauntingly, and Thor released a booming, loud laugh, smirking.

“No magic, Loki.”

Loki’s smile fell, but Sif’s only widened, and he turned his head to glare menacingly at her, the promise of revenge clear as day as it glimmered in his emerald eyes.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Sif went through her usual routine of getting comfortable after a long day by first ridding herself of the armor that worse so heavily on her. She liked to keep up the façade that it was fine, like it was feather-light, like it didn’t bother her at all. She liked to think it, as well, to boost the image she put on for everyone else, the image of a fair maiden being just as gifted a warrior as the finest men in all the realms. That was her goal, anyway, and when she was all alone in her chambers, the armor was the very first thing to go.

After placing it carefully on the hangers decorating her walls, she removed her tall leather boots and set them near her bed, wanting to be ready to put on her shoes if anything ever needed her quick and urgent attention at a moment’s notice. Her skirt and leggings went next, and then the soft cotton shirt that protected her skin against the grading friction of her chest plate. The band holding her hair up in its usual fashion was pulled away, and afterward she bathed, basking in the water lapping against her skin, washing the day from her body.

It was a relaxing practice, standing before the mirror after her bath, eyes searching her reflection for any cuts she might have been unaware of. The mirror was aged, given by her mother as a gift when she’d finally reached a status deemed worthy of a home close to the palace. It was where most of the warriors-in-training lived, but Sif was the only woman there, and that was both a blessing and a curse. Some revered her for the courage within her to stand up and do what she loved, but others only admired her for her looks.

It was the sad fact of her life, and she thought about all of the times men had scoffed at the idea of her ever becoming a true champion as she ran a finger over the tiny scar marring the skin at her hip. It had been an accident on Thor’s part, and he’d apologized countless times, and she smiled, remembering the moment he’d pricked her with the blade he’d been using, that sting of pain that reminded her to keep fighting, to keep trying to win. But Thor had been so shocked that he’d likely merely allowed her victory instead of having it taken from him, and she still felt angered by the fact. The only other scar she wore was a long, jagged line of pale, raised skin she’d earned as a child, stretching across the width of her stomach.

It was the first time she’d ever held a real weapon, a long, shining sword that had caught the sunlight behind her house and glowed golden. With a smart blade that she’d been naïve of, (twirling it like she’d always seen her father twirl his swords, running across the lawn with it and smiling like she’d just been given the greatest gift, her bare feet stumbling from the weight of it as she’d toppled over) it had easily sliced open her flesh. Sif had seen death that day, not in person, but from a distant, hazy perspective that had made her wiser.

That same wisdom sharpened her senses, and she heard more than saw a great  _whoosh_  behind her, the flash of green glowing in the mirror’s reflection and momentarily blinding her as she ducked down and rushed to cover herself with her silken robe. The acrid stench of magic filled her nostrils and she frowned, looking up from her position on the floor to glare as Loki’s flickering form solidified out of the wispy tendrils of magic dissipating around him, a smirk on his face as his eyes widened at the sight of her.

“My, my,” he observed, his syllables drawn out and slow, “it seems I’ve caught you at an inconvenient time.”

Bunching the material about her waist to ensure that her robe didn’t fall open, she scrambled to her feet and crossed her arms, blinking in surprise and anger.

“ _What_  are  _you_  doing here?” Sif hissed, and Loki snickered, leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom, arms crossed over his chest.

“Is claiming to desire your company too much of a lie or…?”

His face was bruised, a mark earned earlier in the day when Thor had quite roughly butted him in the face with the end of his sword hilt. Mjolnir had been discarded long into their sparring session, replaced by knives and spears alike, and Thor had given Loki quite a few aches that he’d no doubt feel in the morning. There were tiny cuts over the bridge of his nose and across his pale cheeks, and his posture leaned more heavily to his left, a sure sign that his right leg hurt from the strain of standing.

Unsympathetic and rolling her eyes, she stalked up to him and turned his slender body so that he was facing away from her and shoved his back, pushing him forward and out the bathroom door, and he looked back at her with a grin.

Eyes widening, she recognized the look on his face and turned to run out into the bedroom, trying to make it to the door in time, but his form vanished in a cloud of magic. She yelped as a rough touch came at her back, gripping her robe and tightening the fabric around her waist, and, suddenly, she was in the main hall, caught in the shadowed corner that overlooked a crowd of intoxicated warriors that enjoyed the nighttime life, and she swallowed nervously as the comforting presence of her robe vanished, sliding off of her body in a mere second, and she struggled to cover herself hastily, turning to glare at Loki, who’s eyes were trained on hers as the robe dangled loosely from his fingers.

“This silk material is so prone to just… _slipping_ off, wouldn’t you say?” She glared at him in the darkness and he smiled, a toothy grin that spoke volumes, and she felt unnerved at the idea that she could read the message hidden in his expression.

_Don’t cross me._

 He disappeared then, and Sif was left to figure out how she was going to get back to her chambers without anyone seeing her naked. She sighed with rage. Her chambers, which were directly beside the palace, could only be reached by crossing the feast hall, which held dozens of drinking, laughing warriors.

She cursed Loki’s name and wished longingly for something to cover herself with. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please R&R! Feedback of any kind is always appreciated! ;)


	4. Chapter 4

It had been months since the deal, and the memory of it was almost obsolete. Sif remained ever hostile toward Loki for his little prank, and Loki chose to ignore her glares and attempts to hurt him during the sparring sessions. He began the practice of outright refusing to spar with any of them, and Sif could tell how saddened Thor became at the prospect, and a sad Thor was a very,  _very_ unhappy Sif.

She'd watch him all but deflate when Loki declined his offers, and it made her wish that she had the gift of magic so that she could give the trickster a taste of his own medicine, angry at him for hurting Thor. He didn't seem to care, he often never did, and she wondered at his change of heart. He'd been so… _light_ , so worriless, that night when he'd taken her robe, and now it seemed as if a dark raincloud was crying over him at all times of the day. It almost made her want to talk to him about it- _almost_. She'd never be able to bear it, having a civil, heart-to-heart with Loki, one that didn't involve any beneficial topics or pranks or backstabbing.

So, she made a decision, and the next day, her absence was felt in the sparring court, something like a heavy cloak over the mind, a thing that could never be quite forgotten.

She talked to Frigga.

The queen was a homely, humble woman, a strong fighter and a talented sorceress, and she was wiser than her years, wiser than Sif thought she'd ever have the chance to be; warriors never did live long, prosperous lives. The stares she received as she walked down the palace halls were irritating, and she held up her chin to avoid meeting them, the click of her heeled boots echoing in the cavernous corridors, firelight dancing across her milky skin as she passed by, her dark hair lit with flickering orange colors. She could feel the brush of her crimson skirt against her legs and she welcomed the familiar sensation, glad to feel just a little less foreign as she approached the queen's chambers, protected by blank-faced, stern guards that stood tall and straight, unrelenting in their cold gazes. She stopped before them, her heart pounding.

Frigga was a friend, and yet the setting was far too intimidating for it not to affect Sif, a mere teenage girl aiming to someday be a warrior. She'd met Thor and Loki's mother as a young child, when she'd been more curious than adventurous, and the queen had seemed to admire Sif's relentless aspirations, and they'd gotten along fine from there, since Sif had been a familiar presence in the palace for years now. She'd been a childhood friend to Thor, the only one, next to Loki, and they'd met Fandral a few years back; he'd been too enthusiastic not to welcome.

The guards seemed to recognize her and broke their formation to allow her entry. They even opened the wide golden doors for her, and she smiled politely at them as she passed by, the image of the royal chambers filling her vision. Her skin felt the gentle heat emanating from the fireplace, and she scanned over the sofas and the large bed in the corner as she climbed up the tall steps. Frigga was sitting on a soft rug overlooking the fire, where it crackled soothingly whenever she raised her hand, the scent of magic in the air, her legs curled up beneath her as her golden dress pooled at her legs. She turned, unsurprised, as if expecting the visit, and Sif bowed to her. Raising her arm, Frigga beckoned her over, and when the girl started walking toward her, she patted the seat beside her, smiling in that motherly way of hers. When at last she took a seat, the queen placed soft fingers over the back of Sif's hand.

"What is it, dear?" She swallowed, shaking her head sadly. "It's Thor," she began softly, reservedly, concern laced heavily in her voice.

"I'm worried that Loki's recent behavior is wearing on him." Frigga blinked, looking down at their hands, the youthful glow of Sif's own shining in comparison to the wrinkled skin starting to form on Frigga's. She smiled sadly and sighed, the burdens she carried unsaid but heard within the shaking of her breath.

"Loki has always been…moody; after a while, it passes. Just give it time." Sif turned her palm and squeezed Frigga's fingers, frowning deeply as she furrowed her brow, gazing intensely at the woman before her.

"But what of  _Thor_? I fear there is nothing that I can do to lighten his burdens," she whispered lowly, tracing the vision of flames dancing in Frigga's blue eyes. The queen smiled knowingly, patting Sif's arm with her free hand.

"You and Thor always have been close." She looked to her dress, wiping it of some invisible grime, and glanced at the teenager through her lashes, smirking. Sif thought that she looked more like Loki than ever before, and shivered inwardly from the memory of his trick, the sensation that all of those men were staring at her still sticking, stubborn, to her skin.

"Perhaps the woman can lighten his mood," she observed nonchalantly, turning her attention to the fire as it once again came to life at her will. Sif blinked and stared at the queen, tilting her head in confusion, her heart beginning to pound even faster.

"The woman?" Sif asked, holding her breath, and Frigga turned back around, staring at her like she'd lived in a cave for a few hundred years, like it was so odd that she'd asked such a  _silly_  question.

"Yes. Thor's woman.

" Her stomach plummeted, and she had to steady herself with her other hand, afraid of fainting. Frigga released her hold and instead gripped her shoulder tightly, eyes flickering back and forth, as if searching for something, and they finally widened in recognition.

"You…don't know, do you?" Sif took in a slow, trembling breath, eyes traveling upward to gaze imploringly at the woman.

" _Know what?"_

Sif had never known her mother-dying during childbirth tended to have that effect. Her father had blamed his one and only daughter for the death of his wife, and so he'd been overly distant, only ever showing her attention when he realized that she was inclined to weapons, his long held desire for a son peeking through every time he'd teach her a fighting move or give her a knife. She'd grown to love him in that specific, certain kind of way, but he was gone now, killed on duty at the palace when someone from another realm had made an attempt on Odin's life. This not only made security more strict, but it gave Sif a chance to truly connect with the one woman she'd always seen as a mother figure.

She'd grown to love Frigga in a different way, a different kind than how she'd cared for her father, and so it came as quite a shock when that same woman left and came back with a single piece of parchment, swirling ink scrawled across it in intricate lettering. Sif had never felt so destroyed, but she'd also never felt angrier, the urge to rip out Loki's throat an overwhelming one.

...

"So, you're really doing it, then?" Loki asked, interested, and Thor glanced up from his seat on the edge of Loki's bed, smiling, his eyes bright before the fire.

"Yes, Loki, for the thousandth time- _yes_." Loki turned to look at him from where he was arranging the spell notes atop his desk, raising his arms in a mock defensive position, rolling his eyes good-heartedly. Thor laughed boomingly, standing and making his way over to his brother.

"Do you really take me for any other kind of man?" Loki stared at him, smirking, and finally shook his head, turning back to arrange his notes.

"Well…yes. Besides, you're not a man, Thor.  _Father_  is a man, you're merely a boy."

Seemingly insulted, Thor grabbed Loki's shoulder and gently turned him, a hurt expression on his formerly happy face, and Loki felt a twinge of guilt for ruining Thor's joyous moment.

"I am. You're just jealous, is all." Loki sighed, reaching over to curl his palm around the back of Thor's neck, a customary and affectionate warrior gesture that they'd picked up in their youth. Thor smiled at the action; if Loki was willing to be sincere, then it meant he was in a better mood.

"I will never be jealous of you, Thor," he murmured, and Thor couldn't see the lie shining in his eyes, weighing his tongue down and poisoning his blood, so he beamed at his brother and clapped him on the back, chuckling as he moved to make his way to the door.

"She really is a  _fair_  maiden, Loki. Her laughter-it's like music to me."

The widowed Vanir appeared in Loki's thoughts and he wondered, distantly, if the situation around him was in fact the real one. It all seemed so insane, so rushed, but Thor seemed jubilant when he turned around to bid Loki farewell for the night. Even Odin seemed uncomfortable with the circumstances, and Frigga refused to openly give her opinion, even when Loki all but begged to hear it. He desperately wanted to know if she agreed with him, but she remained silent on the matter, and Loki sighed as he watched Thor vanish through the doors.

Before they'd even had a chance to close, Sif stomped in, her grey eyes glowing with rage, and Loki took a step back, wise enough to know that whatever happened next wouldn't be good. There was a piece of parchment crumpled in her fist's strong grip and his eyes scanned over it fleetingly, just long enough for him to realize what it was. It was a familiar thing, and he'd read over the words written on it often enough that he knew them by heart, and he swallowed in dread.

Sif's rage was entirely unwelcome.

Slamming the doors, she rushed up to him, taking the steps two at a time, and finally shoved the paper against his chest, making sure to cause pain as her knuckles connected roughly with his sternum. He let out a breath and reluctantly took the parchment, wary of meeting her eyes. He glanced down, frowning. It was a wedding announcement for Thor and the woman he was apparently enamored with, something Loki had argued with Thor about constantly for the past few months. The idea of love at first sight and engagements formed after such short periods of time nearly disgusted Loki. For someone to be so ignorant-it almost angered him. Sif was shaking before him, tears shimmering in her eyes as the fire illuminated her face, casting her skin in a golden glow, her dark hair looking lighter, reminding him of when she'd been younger with her beautiful golden locks and infuriating vanity. He'd taught her a lesson that day, and it seemed as if she was about to teach him one herself.

"What the  _hell_  is this, Loki?"

Her voice sounded worn, as if she'd just come back from screaming her heart out, as if her voice had abandoned her, the scratchy tremble tell-tale signs of a broken heart. Her cheeks were flushed, and she shook even more when he didn't answer. She raised her fist and hit his chest with the side of it, taking his breath away, and he stumbled against his desk, frowning at the pain.

" _Answer me!_ " Sif shouted, and she sounded far too pathetic to ever have been the fierce warrior girl he'd known in years past. Blinking down at her, Loki sighed and shook his head.

"They're not married yet. Calm down." It was the wrong thing to say, apparently, for Sif's eyes rounded and her face got even redder, her lips shaking. She took a breath, and Loki thought that all hell had broken loose in his room as she screamed at him. It sounded like she was being murdered, shouting profanities at him in the most incoherent of fashions, and the punches she tried to throw at him burned more than he expected them to. Finally, after minutes of the continuous assault, Sif calmed herself, deflating against him as she beat against his chest, and tears were strolling down her cheeks, her hair messy and tangled from her struggle. She composed herself as best she could, and glanced up at him, leaning on his torso with all of her weight, though she felt light against him.

"Our deal," she murmured hoarsely, sniffling, "is  _off_."

And she turned, walking away from him. He rushed to catch up to her and grabbed her arm, turning her around to face him. She seemed weakened by her earlier efforts to inflict pain on him, and there was a pang in his chest at the sight. Sif was strong, a fierce person, a brave soul; Thor shouldn't have such an effect on her.

"Thor isn't gone to you yet, Sif. This deal can still be salvaged-just give me a chance." She swallowed past the lump in her throat, eyeing him uneasily, her movements now more nervous than angered.

"You'll…break them up?" He nodded, and she glanced down at her boots, frowning. "But he's happy, if he's willing to marry her…"

Rolling his eyes, he gripped both of her shoulders, making her look at him.

"She must be overly exceptional in bed for him to stop his search so soon and devote himself to her. I know Thor, and perhaps he will mature someday, but right now, he's an oaf." The corner of her mouth turned up the slightest at his words, and she sniffled again, calmer now.

"Thor may think he's happy, for now, but he won't be when he realizes that he made one colossal mistake," he said, turning her around and gently guiding her to the door, "when he decided to marry the Vanir girl instead of  _you_."

Abruptly, she placed a hand on the door handle and turned to gaze at him imploringly.

"You  _must_  convince him."

_"And if I do, then what?" Sif's lips parted, the truth plain in Loki's penetrating gaze. "I love Thor more dearly than any of you, but you know what he is. He's arrogant, he's reckless, he's dangerous; you saw how he was today! Is that really what Asgard needs from its king?" He stalked off, hands curled into nervous, agitated fists, and she thought he seemed distracted, overwhelmed by the day's events. He seemed almost…different. Thor was gone, and it looked as if Loki was, too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please R&R! Feedback of any kind is always appreciated! ;)


	5. Chapter 5

In the next few weeks, Loki was hard at work, trying his absolute best to convince Thor that the woman was no good for him, to make him see that he should wait and avoid rushing into things. Thor was stubborn, so stubborn that Loki had thought about smacking him across the face to test the effectiveness of it, and Loki always went to sleep at night feeling completely unaccomplished.

Sif was counting on him, and that gave him an odd kind of comfort that wasn't so very unwelcomed in his mind. The idea of something he did, an action or a word or a trick, making someone's day better filled him with satisfaction; he'd never mattered that much before, except with Frigga. The tiniest smile had her beaming at him and hugging him close, and he felt his heart swell at the thought of his gentle mother. Too many nights passed, too many days gone unproductive, and he was beginning to get frustrated with himself.

That is, until he remembered something.  _His spell notes_. It was far past midnight when Loki jumped out of bed, rushing over to his desk as moonlight cascaded through his open window, basking his silken green covers in a white haze, his pale skin made even lighter by its attention. He shuffled through the several handwritten pages to find one in particular, a helpful piece of parchment that made him smile triumphantly to himself.

Suddenly, Loki found new purpose.

...

It was a bright day, filled with sunshine and music and casual, easy banter, but Loki wanted no part of it. His main goal: eliminate the Vanir girl from the picture. His plan seemed all too easy, and he clutched his notes in his hand, walking hastily down the halls in his favorite cloak, eager to avoid being seen. The guest chambers weren't far, and he readied himself, steeling his nerves.

He'd never done anything remotely close to what he was about to do before, and it both terrified and thrilled him. He decided that he liked the sensation. The material of his cloak was green, a velvety fabric that Frigga had made for him, with golden embellishments curling about the color and streaming down the back in intricate waves and dips. He could see the reflection of it on the golden walls, and he turned his attention away from it, taking a deep breath as he arrived at the unguarded door to her chambers. Guests didn't require that much protection, he figured.

Quickly, he knocked on the door, gently rapping against the golden surface with his knuckles, and the response was almost instant, as if she'd been about to walk out the door when he'd knocked. Her face when she saw him was surprised, but it swiftly turned wary when he lifted his head, his eyes almost glowing within the shadows cast by his cowl. She narrowed her eyes and it was almost like looking into Thor's own, such naivety lying in her gaze, such odd innocence, such emotion. Loki blinked at her and contemplated turning back, thought about retreating while he was able, but the thought of Sif steadied him.

 _He mattered_.  _Someone was counting on him_.

And so, he brought his hand up and touched his fingers to her forehead, and she almost reeled away in shock, but something held her in place. The spell was working, and he felt empty as he charmed her mind, clouded it with false memories.

She had visited Asgard, but had only had just enough time to tour the scenery and meet the royals, dance with a few possible suitors, and she'd left. Never had she seen the crown prince, only heard of him in passing, and she'd certainly never met him in person.

Loki released his hold on her mind and she blinked as he disappeared.

She'd never seen the younger prince, either, but she'd had such fun seeing the palace gardens.

The next day, the woman had gone back to Vanaheim, leaving only a note to her betrothed to explain her sudden absence. Loki had gone through a lot of trouble to forge her writing, and he'd been steadfast at Thor's side to comfort him as he'd mourned the loss. Traveling to find her wasn't an option at Thor's age, even though he begged Loki to find a way, since he was so gifted at magic, but Loki made the excuse that he wanted to avoid their parents' wrath, and so Thor was left saddened and lonely, and Loki went to bed that night with shaking hands, tears in his eyes as he realized what exactly he had done.

Guilt had never washed over him with such power, and Loki cried himself to sleep for the first time in years.

...

Sif was deep into her sleepy dreams when Loki came to ruin both her night and her sleep, munching on a golden apple, and she woke with bleary eyes, glaring at him for disturbing her slumber and unnerved that he was able to do so. He had another apple in his open palm, offering it to her, and she shook her head, wiping from her eyes the remnants of sleep.

"What are you doing here?" As her vision cleared, she was able to see the tear tracks on his cheeks, and she tilted her head as he swallowed another bite, the crisp sound of his chewing loud in the silence.

"I just thought you'd want to know that the girl has been taken care of," he said, and his voice sounded odd, but she blamed it on her groggy mind and plopped back onto her pillow, waving dismissively at him, and he shrugged and put the proffered apple in his pocket, blinking away his tears.

He couldn't be so weak ever again, and when Sif looked up to see if he remained near her, Loki was gone, but the stench of magic was oddly absent.

...

The news spread like wildfire, the prince and his absent fiancée, and the rumors spread even faster. Loki, of course, dutifully ignored the gossip and avoided speaking even a word of what had truly transpired, and he buried the night's memory deep in his mind, scared of the numbness he'd felt when he'd all but ruined a young girl's life, taking from her what eventually could have been a rich, content lifestyle as the queen of Asgard.

It seemed as if he'd also taken Thor's happiness, for the god wouldn't stop moping and grieving for himself. Loki began to doubt his motives when he walked in on Thor crying, fat tears dripping down his face. Loki's hands had shaken as he'd gripped the door handle, and he'd masked it with a sad, sympathetic expression, but he'd never felt worse.

Two weeks into his deceit and he thought that he was going mad, but Sif acted completely unburdened whenever he saw her. He supposed that she would; she didn't, after all, take away a person's memories. She did nothing, and it was obvious in her eyes that she knew it as well as he did. She even seemed more driven to beat Thor during their sparring, and she managed to do it more often than the rest of them, but Loki contributed her victories to Thor's debilitating mood. Three weeks and he was ready to confess, the guilt was eating him up so much.

So, he went to Sif's chambers to ease his troubled mind, since she was the only other person aware of what he'd done. She didn't seem so surprised to see him when he appeared before her, a cloud of green embracing him, and she stared when he again offered her a golden apple, eating another in the process.

"Where did you get those?" Sif asked warily, likely fearful of poison or some other harmful atrocity, and he smirked at her.

"From a special place."

She rolled her eyes and waved him off, ready for him to leave, and he stared at her, wide-eyed, and as she met his eyes, she felt almost afraid. Loki seemed angry, and it was a murderous thing shining in his green eyes that made her insides curl. He blinked and it was gone, but his posture remained stiffened as he leaned against the nightstand beside her bed, where she sat combing her hair, preparing for bed. Her silk nightclothes hung loosely from her frame and he sighed, shaking his head at her.

"You would dismiss me, after all I've done for  _you_?"

Definitely angry, if his voice was any indication, and she patiently set her comb down, folding her hands in her laps before staring up at him.

"I appreciate it," she murmured demurely, and he ground his teeth together, his jaw muscles tensed as he leaned in close.

"Don't act so above me, Sif," he growled, and she swallowed nervously, frozen with fear at the look in his eyes. He was foreign, then, and her hands curled into fists at her sides. As with before, he blinked and it vanished.

"Thor is troubled by the woman's absence; he'll need time to heal." Loki stood and put the apple in his pocket, sighing. "I suggest you find something to distract yourself with while you wait for him to recover, so that you can have a proper chance at getting him to love you."

He flickered out of sight, and the magic curled and spiraled to the floor before dissipating, the awful scent still absent.

Sif didn't get much sleep that night.

...

Loki only sparred at Thor's request to ease his sadness, and it worked for a time. He only ate what Thor suggested at dinner because it put a smile on his brother's face. He only agreed to stay up all night with the prince, who sat in silent grief, to help him cope.

Loki felt no better for his actions, though; it was just as if he was making up for what he'd done, and he yearned to confess to Thor, to beg for forgiveness, but he held his tongue. So, the weeks passed by just like that. Loki would wake, have breakfast, and head to the sparring court so early in the morning that no one else was present but the two of them, and he'd practice his fighting abilities with Thor, all up until the sky darkened with the shade of night.

He'd arrive at his chambers with barely enough energy to change into his nightclothes, and he often just collapsed into his bed, not caring to cover himself with the sheets.

He usually fell asleep almost instantly.

...

On the one day that Thor's mood seemed significantly lighter, Loki returned to Sif's chambers, recovering from the wounds he'd gotten in the daily sessions, and she seemed afraid of him, her movements always watchful of his own.

It had become a habit to greet her every now and then, and he wasn't entirely sure why he visited the girl. The idea of having someone that knew the one thing no one else did was liberating in its own kind of way, and he figured that he might as well enjoy the feeling while it lasted, before everything exploded in his face, as it normally tended to do.

When he at last proved to her that he wouldn't hurt her, she eased her ways and seemed almost comforted by the familiarity of his presence, the habitual offering of the mysterious golden apple while he munched on one, the odd, back-and-forth chats, and the abrupt departure that left her wanting another conversation. It was the unpredictable nature of the visits that made her yearn for their frequency, and Loki was the only person that knew of her desires for Thor. It was oddly, surprisingly comforting, to have someone that knew those things when no one else would accept you for it. Which was why, on the fifth night, or so Loki claimed, that Thor was feeling more like himself, Loki stayed just a bit longer in her chambers, always trying to get her to eat the golden apple.

He leaned against her vanity, staring at his reflection, and she scoffed at him, annoyed that he had punished her for her own vain ways so long ago and now he was doing the same thing. The bitterness she'd felt at the loss of her blonde tresses had lasted for years, but Thor had finally sat her down and had an enlightening talk with her, and she'd understood the enigma that was Loki just a bit better. But now, he was shifting, an ever changing thing, and she couldn't put a name to what it was that he was going through. He finally turned from the mirror to stare at her, smirking as he took the last bite of his apple. It disappeared in his hand, and she blinked in surprise.

"Have you found a distraction yet?" She hadn't thought about it, really, and she gazed at him, unblinking and confused.

"What?" He sighed, as if he was surrounded by idiots, and leaned closer, even though he stood several feet away.

"Have you found something to distract you from Thor?" Remembering, she shook her head, and at the mention of him, she smiled at the idea that he was finally getting back to his normal self.

"How is he doing?" Sif asked lightly, and Loki shrugged lazily, wiping his hands free of the apple's juices on his trousers.

"He's fine, I suppose. He still has his moments, so there's a long way to go before he's completely normal again."

Her shoulders lowered at the news, and she looked to her lap. It just wasn't destined, she was beginning to think. Thor would never love her, not now that he'd had a taste of what it was like to actually love someone. He'd be too jaded to want another relationship, too unprepared to take the next step with her. Tears welled in her eyes and Loki ducked his head to see them, averting his gaze immediately after he spotted them, uncomfortable with people crying in front of him. Slowly, he eased over to where he was a mere three feet away, sighing loudly enough to get her attention, and she looked up, sniffling.

"You need a distraction, Sif. Perhaps  _looking for one_  would be a good idea?" She frowned at his tone and shook her head, wiping her eyes dry.

"You'll find one, and you'll be happy enough to forget about Thor for a bit, at least until he recovers." His voice then was gentle, even comforting, like how you'd talk to someone who had just seen a murder, or someone on the edge of life and death, and she looked up at him, a thought coming to her.

It was a sudden, fragile idea, one that was all too unwelcome, and she shook her head to rid her mind of it, but it remained like an incessant, constant, tangible  _thing_ , and she felt frustrated with herself.

 _No_ , she thought,  _impossible_ _._

But then again, when she looked up at him, his lean form standing awkwardly across from her as he avoided meeting her eyes once again, apparently still a bit uncomfortable, her heartbeat sped up from the thoughts in her head. And Sif was never really one to think out those rare, split-second decisions that called to her heart and her body and her mind, that called to her deepest yearnings. She'd never clearly thought about it when it sang to her like the sweetest melody, and she took in a deep breath, and it came out shaky as Loki looked on, confused.

"Did you find it or something? You're having quite the reaction there," Loki asked curiously, just a little wary, and she blinked at him, snapped out of her reverie.

"What?" He frowned, brow furrowed.

"Your distraction. Did you find your distraction?"

She stood, and that same experience came over her from the night when she'd tried to jump off of the balcony, that same floating feeling, as if she could see herself from afar. Loki seemed surprised at the movement, but he didn't have time to comment on it, for Sif was already grabbing his collar and pulling him down to her, pressing her lips to his in a chaste, heated kiss, and his eyes rounded to the size of saucers, his fingers curling and his body going rigid as she pulled away, gasping for breath, small puffs of air hitting his face as she gripped his collar tightly between her pale, shaking fingers.

He stared at her with a frozen, shocked gaze, eyes unblinking as she trembled before him.

" _Be my distraction_ ," she whispered huskily, and Loki remained frozen in her hold, his breath held, and he examined her, seemingly aware of every part of her body for the first time in his life.

She reached down and unlatched the very first part of his leather outfit, since he'd neglected to change for the night, unbuckling his trousers with a fiery look in her eyes as she glanced back up at him. Loki didn't think; he only acted on his darkest of desires, the most demanding part of him. He leaned in and kissed her roughly, bringing his arms around to wrap them about her slender waist and crush her to him.

Sif moaned as he leaned over her, his hands roaming downward, one pressed to her lower back and the other running curiously down the outside of her thigh as they stumbled backward. She locked her arms around his neck, her fingers snaking up through his ebony strands. He gripped her waist and lifted her so that she could wrap her legs around his hips, breaking away only for breath as she kissed him more passionately, her whole body burning as his legs met the edge of her bed, and he squeezed her outer thigh as she pulled closer to him.

Loki released her and she fell onto the covers, gazing at him lustily through dark lashes, her cheeks flushed with blood and her chest rising rapidly in time with her racing pulse and erratic breathing. He finished the process she'd started by snapping his fingers, and their clothes were gone, and she wasn't as surprised as she should have been, eager to be rid of her nightclothes. He climbed on top of her, pressing her against the mattress as his long fingers explored her skin, running over the jagged line across her flat stomach.

He propped himself up on his elbows and ducked his head down to kiss her neck as she ran her hands down his back, counting the notches of his spine, her touch mesmerized. He pulled away when she tugged at his hips, her grip shaking but urgent, and she arched her back when he moved his head to kiss his way down her torso, moving back up to capture her lips with his as she burned within his tight embrace, his arms wrapped around her back and holding her steady.

She stared at him imploringly, panting, and he smirked wickedly, the most genuine passion lighting his eyes and making them shine as he dragged his lips down her neck, his hot breath felt in puffs against her warm skin.

Closing her eyes, she hooked her legs over his hips and smiled as he moved, slowly and with careful calculation, the lightest feeling swelling in her chest as her grip around him tightened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please R&R! Feedback of any kind is always appreciated! ;)


	6. Chapter 6

Sif woke to bright rays of sunlight warming the bare skin of her back, the soft sheets tangled around her legs, her palms flattened against her pillow as her face rested beneath it, comfortably lying on her stomach. The sound of footsteps came at her door, echoing in the outside hall, and she slowly raised her head, blinking away the haze of her dreams, her body starting to ache in the most random of places.

Her door opened and Loki appeared, all but running up the steps to stare at her confused expression, and he gestured to the open window, where small slivers of the palace could be seen. She blinked at him, swallowing as the memory came over her, eyes widening as she remembered the previous night.

"Wouldn't want to miss your sessions, now would you?"

He turned on his heel and promptly walked out the door, closing it behind him, and she looked on after the trickster, trying to rid herself of the images in her head. Slowly, she turned and sat up, looking to her right to see the sheets wrinkled and in disarray, as if someone had spent a significant amount of time wrapped up in them, and she sighed shakily, running a hand through her tousled hair as she stood up. The chill of her room hit her skin almost instantly, and she shivered as she hurriedly padded across the room, looking around her to see where her clothes had gone.

Irritated that Loki had probably hidden them from her in some odd pocket of space that only he knew of, she went to her closet and pulled out her cotton undershirt, but the action sent a line of pain up her arm and she winced, rubbing her arm to soothe it of the discomfort. There was a soreness on her skin, and she walked over to the vanity mirror to examine it.

When she saw her reflection, her eyes widened, and she ran a hand over the bruises on her arm, small blotches of purple that looked distinctly like the indentations of fingertips, and she frowned as her eyes roamed elsewhere, to the same kind of bruises on her outer thigh. Cursing Loki, she finally spotted a rather large discoloration on her neck, directly beneath her jawbone, partially hidden by the shadow cast there. Frowning, she touched it and retracted her fingers after feeling its tenderness.

It was decidedly  _not_  a print from his hand, and she clenched her fist in anger, wondering how she'd hide her bruises when her armor left her arms and neck bare. Throwing her undershirt down upon the glass counter of her vanity in frustration, she went to search for something with a high collar, hoping that she could make an excuse for the obvious fingerprints on her arm.

...

Sif walked into the courtyard later than usual, and Thor gave her the strangest, most curious look when she took up a dual-bladed spear, aiming it at him in way of a challenge, and he smirked, glancing at her weapon, memorizing it. He turned to Loki, who sat on the stands, acting completely uninterested in the entire situation, and Sif felt a tingling on her arm, right across her bruises, and looked down to find that they were gone.

 _Masked_ , _for the time being,_ murmured a voice in her head, and she started in surprise, blinking at Loki with wide, shocked eyes, her lips parting with the things left unsaid between them. The idea that Loki was so advanced in his practices terrified her, and she swallowed nervously, wondering what he  _couldn't_ do. He looked up, then, and winked at her, and she turned from his view, uncomfortable.

"Loki," Thor bellowed, smiling, "perhaps you could conjure something similar to Sif's weapon of choice?

" Loki rolled his eyes, but in the next instant an identical weapon materialized in Thor's open, waiting palms and he beamed at Loki gratefully, going back to Sif to ready his fighting stance. Sif could feel the pain, still throbbing in her limbs, but was at least a little grateful to the trickster for covering up the evidence. She took a deep breath and masked her discomfort with a look of severity, battle-ready and longing for victory.

Thor rushed at her headlong, throwing all of his strength into swinging his spear against hers, and a quick smile flashed across her features.

She ended up losing to him, regrettably, but Loki's laughter followed her as she returned, nearly sulking, to the stands, and she felt her cheeks burn.

"Quite the sour defeat there, Lady," Loki called to her as she took her seat, and she turned and sent him a hard, withering glare.

It only made him laugh more. Fury bubbled in her blood and surged in her veins, and her hands balled into trembling fists as Loki's smile fell. She stood swiftly, almost too swiftly, and her vision swam as she righted herself, feeling unsteady.

"We'll see how  _sour_  of a defeat  _yours_  is, Odinson," she ground out, stalking to the middle of the courtyard to grab the weapon she'd set down, sending him a pointed look as she readied her fighting stance. Thor laughed rambunctiously, wiping tears from his eyes as he turned to look at his brother from his place by the tree, and Loki frowned, sinking in his seat as he turned his attention to glare at Sif. She smiled arrogantly and beckoned him.

"Come now, Loki," Thor said eagerly, and Loki pitied the ignorance in his blue, ocean-bright eyes, but sighed heavily, pushing himself off of his seat to laze over to where Thor had been standing before, and he watched his brother run over to the stands to sit down. Loki picked up the spear that he'd previously conjured for Thor and shook his head.

When Sif sparred, she didn't run at anyone, rather she slid across the court gracefully, walking along its surface like she knew every inch of it, and Loki, instead of knowing the court, knew Sif-now much better than he had, thanks to the night before-and decided that, for once, he would have an advantage. Magic was never allowed in the court, a rule set up and enforced by Thor and Thor alone, and so Loki had few options.

But when Sif raised her weapon to slice it down upon him, he met it with his own and ignored the clashing, screeching sound of metal on metal, shoving her away with the strength in his arms, and she went sliding backwards across the stone yard, dark hair whipping past her in the wind. He tightened his grip on the hilt as she ground her teeth together, the muscles in her jaw working twice as hard as she planted her feet, rushing at him and swiveling to throw her weight into the swing, her arm stretching out so that the side of the blade smacked him in the ribs.

She spun in the opposite direction, and Loki saw the spear falling upon him just in time to raise his arm, letting it slice into the hard leather of his armor, and he shoved the weapon away, bringing his own up to deflect the blow that came after, the one he'd been anticipating, but Sif didn't have her blade poised to strike him, and so that miscalculation caused him to slice down her bared arm, opening a red line through the soft, milky skin there, and she gasped in pain as his eyes widened in surprise, his heart hammering with something akin to sudden and undeniable guilt, and he questioned the feeling.

Forgetting it and refusing to act sorry, he backed away to prepare himself as she skidded to a stop, blood running down her arm and dripping onto the dusty court yard, dotting it with crimson. She glared at him, and Loki knew, with a sinking feeling in his gut, that it all had turned into more than a sparring session as she tucked the spear close to her body and started running at him.

She put all her strength into the swing as she brought the weapon down, and he blocked the strike with his own, but she backed away too fast for the impact to fully stop their movements, and glared at him from a few feet away, rebel strands of hair falling in front of her bright, angered eyes, and Loki took a deep, silent, shaky breath as she released a soft, rage-filled cry, one that he could imagine her sounding in battle, and his eyes widened with apprehension as she rushed forward, pushing off of the ground and jumping into the air.

In a moment that Loki could not spare, he could have seen her and admired the sight, eyes tracing every curve of her body as they had in the shade of night, watching the way the muscles in her arms tensed as she held the weapon aloft, watching the turn of her lips and the set of her jaw, watching her hair surround and frame her face as it was held suspended in the wind, watching and breathless and wanting far more than he'd ever desired anything before.

But that was all ruined when she slashed the blade upon him with all of her power and rage, and he thought, fleetingly, to hold up his own weapon to protect himself, but in that instant, so close to her, he could see the indignation in her eyes, the shame lurking there beneath it, and all of the pent-up anger and emotion raging within her, and he dropped his spear, hearing its ringing clatter upon the ground as he brought his arms up, and not even the sturdy leather wrapped around his limbs could protect them from the force behind her sharp blade.

They went tumbling down, collapsing onto the court yard as her battle cry echoed past the stands, and Thor stood quickly, concern flashing across his features. The Warriors Three stood, as well, but no one moved to their aid, wary of Sif's anger as she landed on top of Loki with a loud breath, panting against him while he stared, surprised, with hot blood running down his arms beneath his armor.

Her hair fell in a curtain of ebony beside his face, shielding the stands from his sight, and he blinked up at her, all too aware of her palms pressed to the plates at his chest, her body laid flat against his, legs intertwined. She paid him no attention as she shoved off of him and gained back her footing, clapping a hand over her bleeding arm as she walked away, her spear tossed to the ground in her wake, and he sat up gingerly, looking after her with a nauseating feeling creeping into his stomach, his chest aching.

...

By the time Sif got to her chambers, Loki was already there, his outer armor stripped away and a golden apple held tightly in his palm. She slammed the door upon entry and ignored him entirely, stomping over to her vanity to inspect the cut on her arm. Grinding her teeth together in frustration, she ran her fingertips gently over the wound there, wincing as the sharp, familiar sting of pain laced up her limb, and she turned on her heel to glare at the trickster.

"It's called 'sparring', Loki, not 'cut Sif up like a Christmas ham'!"

She stormed across the room and disappeared through the bathroom door, throwing her palms down on the sink counter in anger, leaning down to rifle quickly through the cabinet for bandages, her every movement made jerky with the rage igniting within her, singing her blood and heating her veins. She turned and he was directly before her, his approach once again as silent as ever, and she jumped in surprise before all but growling at him, turning back around to dress her wound, which had thankfully stopped bleeding.

Loki rolled up his cotton sleeves, holding out his arms so that she could see the blood smeared along his skin, originating from two clean, crimson lines, each one running down the undersides of his arms. He gave her a pointed look, smirking, and she rolled her eyes as she wrapped the bandage around her tender skin.

"You are not the only one scathed," he said quietly, and she wrapped her arm more aggressively as her temper flared.

"In retaliation!" Sif yelled to the countertop, eyes cast away from Loki's reflection in the mirror staring back at her, and she heard the crunching, irritating sound of him biting into the odd golden apple, taping off the bandage and putting the rest of the roll away for future, inevitable wounds. She sighed, her head dropping as she closed her eyes in annoyance, and strands of hair tickled the skin of her neck as she shook her head.

"Just go away, Loki." It was silent, and yet she knew he still lingered, and the crunch of the apple once again arose. She glanced up at his reflection, watched him chew idly as he stared back at her, green gaze impassive-but then again, it always was.

"And stay out of my head. It's  _my_  mind, and you have no right to intrude."

Loki blinked at her, but then a wicked smile darkened his features, and he bit into the apple again, licking his lips free of the juices that she assumed were heavenly, if his expression was any indication.

"Want to see what else I can do?" Loki asked suggestively, and Sif rolled her eyes exasperatedly, turning away from him to stare into the mirror, examining the places that her bruises had been in the hopes that they had gotten better throughout the day.

"You can uncover them now." Loki snapped his fingers at her command, and blotches of brown and purple reappeared on her skin, dotting her arm and thigh, and her heart sunk as she noticed that the one on her neck had failed to even lessen in both its color and tenderness, and Loki frowned behind her, tossing his apple into the garbage container in the corner of the room.

"Too bad about those bruises; they  _were_  unintentional, you know. I'm not used to being so," his hand swept up in a slight, habitual gesture, one aimed at helping him think, and she recognized it from the many times she'd seen Frigga do it, "… _overwhelmed_ ," he said, drawing out his words, and he frowned, as if the term seemed inadequate to him, but finally sighed and moved over to the doorway, leaning against the frame lazily, watching as Sif worried over her bruises.

"I  _will_  try to be gentler next time," he murmured assuredly, and Sif's eyes widened a she turned to him, expression intensified by disbelief, cheeks darkening with shame.

"No, you won't, because there won't  _be_  a next time." Loki blinked at her, but his eyes lacked emotion, and so she continued, feeling like she hadn't truly made him understand her.

"It was a mistake, Loki. I should be saving myself for  _Thor_ , not giving myself to his  _brother_ , of all people."

She walked past him and through the door, padding over to the vanity and taking up her comb to brush her hair free of the tangles the day had given it, and Loki followed, watching her in the mirror, eyes tracking ever flick of her wrist.

"It never happened," she explained softly, running the comb's unforgiving teeth through her locks, and she ignored the flash of emotion that overcame Loki's eyes, refusing to believe that her words had stirred up some sort of feeling within him, refusing to believe that Loki was anything more than a cold-hearted liar. He stepped closer to her, and she felt soft, gentle hands on her shoulders, cold palms pressed to the cloth over her skin, and she shivered inwardly. He leaned close to her head, so that his lips were inches from her ear, and she swallowed thickly, not wanting to meet his gaze in the mirror.

"Thor's was not the name on your lips last night; why be concerned about him now?" She had to admit-it was a valid question, and yet it ignited a flame of anger within her.

How  _dare_  him. She set her jaw, and Loki let his hands fall from her shoulders, his fingertips dragging down her back before his touch vanished entirely.

"Leave," she ground out, stoic and even, and Sif watched him disappear in the reflection, watched his form dissipate, no tendrils of magic left in sight, and she didn't bother to question it.

...

Loki wasn't too concerned with bandaging his arms, and he took his time doing so, only mustering up the willpower to walk to the bathroom and set out the gauze when the thought hit him close to midnight. He washed the blood away, and taped the bandage slowly, feeling sluggish for no apparent reason, and returned to his bed, stripping off his undershirt and tossing it carelessly on the floor as he plopped onto the bed.

As soon as his body landed on the silken sheets, a soft, quiet knocking sounded at his door, and he looked up in annoyance, sighing as he rolled out of bed and got to his feet. When Loki opened the door, the last person he expected to see was standing before him, hair disheveled and clothes rumpled, as if from a sleepless night, her eyes bright in the darkness of the hall. He didn't question how she had managed to sneak into the palace at so late an hour, and didn't ask about her appearance.

Sif had her own secrets. She gazed up at him, and he noticed a certain light in her eyes, a certain unnamable thing that he'd seen the night before, a certain light that warmed the chill in his body from the late-night air seeping from the open windows.

"I trust that you can teleport me to my room?"

He nodded, brow furrowed in confusion, and she stepped through the doorway, taking his hand from the knob to close the door herself, and he swallowed as she unbuttoned her cotton nightshirt, letting it fall at her feet, refusing to look away from him. She stepped closer, bringing her hands up to press her palms gently to his bare chest, and he felt her warm fingertips on his cold skin like burning flames, his heart pounding beneath her touch.

He didn't say anything, refused to, really, for fear that one word from him would bring Sif down from whatever place she was at, and she ran her hands down his abdomen to finally rest upon his hips, hooking her slender fingers around the waistband of his cotton trousers, the backs of her hands brushing against the skin stretched taut over his hip bones as she bit her lip, casting her eyes up at him to gaze hotly through her lashes, her cheeks dusted with color.

She stretched on the tips of her toes, pressing herself flush against him, and he leaned down to capture her lips with his own, his breathing hitching as she tugged down on his clothes, his arms coming to wrap securely about her waist, hands running up her shirt and exploring the smooth expanse of skin there.

He dipped his head down to press a soft, heated kiss to the bruise on her neck, and she gasped-a small, fragile puff of air against the shell of his ear-and he smiled against her skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please R&R! Feedback of any kind is always appreciated! ;)


	7. Chapter 7

Waking in her own familiar bed, Sif raised her head to glare at the brave slivers of early morning sunlight peeking in through her window, which had just moments ago effectively disrupted her slumber.

Sighing, she sat up to lean on her elbows and brushed the hair back from her face, frowning at the rays warming the stone floor as she reluctantly pulled herself to a sitting position, her legs dangling over the side of the bed.

Walking over to her vanity mirror, she grabbed the silk robe piled at the foot of her bed on the way, and shrugged it on hastily when she saw the fading bruises in her reflection, frowning in irritation just before flashes from the night resurfaced in her memories. The sensation of his hands flitting over her skin was fresh and she shivered as it washed over her, his palm pressed just above the rapid pulse at her neck, his fingertips running over the flutter at her wrist.

Closing her eyes to compose herself, Sif took a deep, rattling, cleansing breath, trying to clear her mind just as she frantically attempted to calm her pounding heart. She glanced at the armor hanging untouched to her right, frowning as she realized that she wouldn’t need it.

There would be no sparring today, sacrificed for the sake of a grand feast to be laid out in just a few hours. Sif let out a great sigh and went to grab a dress from her closet, dreading the moment when she’d have to go and speak to Thor and Loki, as was tradition. They both often visited every guest present in the hall, unless Loki was feeling especially gloomy and decided to stubbornly isolate himself in a shadowed corner of the room, much to Frigga’s ire. Her heart fluttered girlishly at the idea of seeing Thor, imagining his bright eyes and equally vibrant smile trained on her, imagining that warmth so prone to him washing over her like she’d done so many times before.

And yet, the thought of Loki, coming unbidden and unwelcome to the forefront of her mind, didn’t exactly repulse her. It didn’t unsettle her, the mere image of him, but what did unnerve her was the knowledge that once she laid eyes on him, the night would rush back to her, and he’d smirk in that way of his and greet her cordially, like nothing was amiss, like they hadn’t been wrapped in each other’s arms the night before. No, Sif was finding that Loki didn’t perturb her at all.

Rather, it was what he stood for, and what was written in his eyes, and what that grin of his meant. Closing her eyes briefly, she blindly grasped for a dress, reaching out with pale, slender fingers (the exact same ones that Loki had kissed as she’d stretched to touch his cheek) to feel the soft, silken material of one and pull it from the darkness of her closet.

The irony that the dress was green was not lost on her.

...

The feast was packed with bustling crowds of people dressed in what was likely their best attire, glittering gowns of gold and silver twinkling at Sif as she passed by, blonde curls pinned up and shivering when the women threw their heads back gracefully to laugh at the men donned mostly in armor. She found it curious that they thought the only way to impress their fellow guests was to dress up like they were going to battle. Ignoring the thought, she felt unsettled at the lack of armor covering her skin, the lack of protection against foe and blade alike, and so hardly took notice of a loud, echoing laugh farther down the hall.

It was familiar, and she might have turned her head to search for its source on any other night, at any other time, but she was distracted by the bareness of her arms and the memory of Loki and her feelings for Thor and the crumbling, collapsing world she’d previously considered steady and constant.

She was so distraught that she ignored that sound and dismissed it as any other, setting herself up for the surprise she felt as Thor appeared before her, winding through the crowd and coming out of it with a smile on his face, warm and friendly and excited. She thought her heart might stop, but then she saw Loki, his arm linked in Thor’s as if he’d been using his brother’s momentum to tug him from the crowd, and she swore that it did.

The usually messy  strands of his dark hair were combed back atop his head, and she guessed fleetingly that Frigga must have been behind it, and his eyes were bright in the dying sunlight at their backs, just as vibrant as the blue irises of the blonde detaching his arm from Loki’s as he began to head over to Sif. She had only a moment to compose herself and take a deep breath before he was upon her, smiling in that charming, dazzling way as he laid a hand on her bare shoulder.

She felt the heat of his skin against hers and reminded herself to stay calm, while Loki snickered in the background, forever the watchful and amused observer. She pretended that the pang of hurt she felt at his casual, nonchalant attention didn’t rise up within her and smiled in greeting as Thor laughed.

“It’s so nice to see you here, Sif,” he murmured as his eyes took her in, “and with such class.” She grinned at him and placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling the hard leather beneath her palm and ignoring the sudden image of the muscles beneath, ignoring the blush coming to her face as she laughed.

“Yes, well, the armor can be stifling,” she murmured loudly to be heard over the chatter of the people around them, and Thor nodded in understanding. Looking at him, it was odd to see him without his armor, as well, in his cotton shirt of crimson and leather. Loki was donned in similar attire, save for the emerald color of his clothes, as he stepped forward to stand at his brother’s side, a devilish smirk shining in his gaze. She felt like smacking him, but kept her eyes on Thor, calm and collected.

Loki clapped a hand on Thor’s shoulder just as the blonde opened his mouth to speak, and Sif was surprised at the odd display of affection so familiar to Thor. Loki never acted like Thor in any way, and she narrowed her eyes at the pair as Thor turned his attention to the dark-haired trickster, interested.

“I think mother needs you to greet a guest, brother,” Loki said with a smile, his head turned to where Frigga was standing a little ways off, smiling as her eyes darted from Thor to the guest speaking with her. Sif wondered if she, too, possessed the unsettling ability to invade minds, just as Loki did (she could still remember the day at the courtyard when his voice had murmured in her head and the way it had affected her).

Thor looked to his mother and nodded, starting to walk away, and he turned to smile at his friends. She felt a surge of warmth and comfort overtake her at the sight, smiling at him in return as he disappeared into the throng of laughing and conversing people. She ignored the longing rising within her to follow him, and glanced at Loki, who looked around him as a slow, hypnotic song began to play from behind her. She guessed that the musicians had finally arrived, and raised a brow as Loki offered his hand to her, expectant and teasing.

“Care for a dance, Lady?”

She sighed inwardly, frowning, and looked around her at the women and men slowly filling the middle of the room as they began to dance. It would hardly look decent to decline the youngest prince of Asgard a mere dance, and so she reluctantly slipped her hand in his and let him lead her to the designated dance floor, glaring at the confident, knowing smirk that overwhelmed his features. In the right light, he could have been considered handsome, but Sif knew that no woman in the city had ever seen Loki in said light, and so he remained completely lonesome.

The notion that she was just realizing such a fact struck her as odd, and she absently bit her lip to quell the thought as he snaked his hand over her waist quickly. She placed one palm on his shoulder as he squeezed the other in his grasp, and they fell in step together while the women around them twirled in the arms of warriors and royals from distant realms.

It was a special occasion, since so many from other worlds were visiting, but Sif hardly cared to know why. In the corner of her eye, she saw Thor laughing with the woman standing in front of Frigga, taking her hand to bow low and kiss it in the most charming way imaginable, a grin shining in his eyes. Her vision blurred with jealousy and the memory of that night came unbidden to her thoughts, the balcony railing beneath her palms and the night air against her skin. That night had changed everything.

“Daydreaming, are we? Or are you plotting all the ways in which you could slaughter that poor girl and get away with it?” Loki asked mockingly as she blinked and looked to him, rolling her eyes.

“You’re just jealous,” she reminded him bitterly as they moved in a slow circle across the floor, accidentally bumping shoulders with another pair for a moment before Loki hastily led them away. He laughed and let his eyes roam over her attire, from the green silk of her floor-length dress to the golden band wrapped around the lower portion of her throat as it laid heavy atop her collarbone.

“I can assure you, my time is occupied enough without another maiden in my life.” She gave him a quizzical look, brow furrowed, before narrowly avoiding stepping on his foot as they spun for the second time.

“Don’t consider our agreement an occupation, Loki,” she murmured quietly, aware of those around her, and he shook his head.

“It takes up a lot of my time,” he replied through the wide grin spreading on his face, and she wished that she could strike him in that moment without getting noticed, and she ground her teeth together. Wishing to change the subject, she glanced to Thor, a yearning, deep sensation overtaking her.

“Have you made any progress with him?”

Lok shrugged casually tightened his hold on her waist, almost possessively, but she felt an odd comfort at the action and quickly refused to think about it.

“He’s coming around. I’ve just been trying to let him recover after the Vanir, but soon I’ll start convincing him of your allure.”

He winked at her playfully and she swatted his arm, unable to stop herself from smiling along with him, and she let out a short laugh.

“You’re the devil,” she teased, and the light in his eyes was one she’d never seen before.

“Oh, it’s my goal to be.”

He detached their hands and moved to brush a stray strand of ebony back from where it’d come unpinned. His fingertips, always cold, brushed against the sensitive shell of her ear, and they both pretended that the shiver it elicited from her was due to the odd chill in the air. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since I updated, and sorry that it's short! I'm trying to update my multi-chapters and that plan is failing...
> 
> Please R&R! Feedback of any kind is always appreciated! ;)


	8. Chapter 8

“It’s  _such_  a task, trying to find a proper suitor,” one of the ladies exclaimed exasperatedly, one hand firmly planted upon her hip as her friends stood at attention and nodded in agreement. Sif, in the middle of the human barricade they’d formed around her, smiled politely but was reluctant to nod.

“They’re either too short or too poor or too ghastly,” she drawled, rolling her eyes with frustration, and Sif’s gaze traced the movement that her light blonde curls made against her back as they bounced with each shake of her shoulders, wondering if the woman knew how lucky she was to have such beautiful hair. One of her friends chimed in, smiling: “Oh but of course they always must have these quirks; some turn out to be so odd.” The third and final friend grinned knowingly, a memory likely coming to mind.

Sif glanced down at her goblet of wine, catching a shivering glimpse of her reflection for just a moment before again focusing on the group around her. Behind them, across the room, she could see Thor laughing at something the queen had just said, standing near a feast table, and Loki was at her other side, shaking his head and trying his best not to chuckle, though Sif could catch the twitch at the corner of his mouth, could see the light in his eyes, and knew that his conviction would break soon enough.

Tearing her gaze away from them both, and attempting to ignore the realization that she’d just paid more attention to Loki than Thor (as if Thor was a figure in the background, rather than the golden prince he truly was), Sif took a breath and raised her glass in agreement with whatever the blonde woman had just said, smiling.

“What of Prince Loki, there?” she asked coolly, and they all gave her surprised, disapproving looks, with their mouths downturned.

“Loki?” two of them murmured simultaneously, practically hissing. The blonde wrinkled her nose, shaking her head. The man in question had succumbed to his laughter, far from them, Frigga’s hand coming to rest upon his arm as she shook her head and patted the cloth of his sleeve.

“He’s so…odd,” she informed Sif, “he practices magic and would rather hold a book than a sword. I’m not even sure he knows how to fight properly,” she sniffed, sipping her wine and sending Sif a strange, curious gaze. That kind of curiosity would certainly be detrimental to Sif’s status as an aspiring warrior, might even taint it permanently, and so, out of her panic, she forced herself to fall into easy laughter, laxly placing a hand on the lady’s arm and leaning toward her.

“I was just teasing, of course. I honestly can’t think of a single woman here who would stoop so low as to even consider him for a suitor, prince or no prince,” Sif explained, “I’d much rather choose Thor, myself.”

The women nodded at her vigorously, giggling and turning to sneak glances at Thor. It wasn’t Thor who caught Sif’s eye, though; Loki had stopped laughing, and his gaze wasn’t nearly as soft as it had been earlier as he stared at her.

He set his goblet down upon the table, murmured a word into Frigga’s ear, and turned to slip away into the shadows of the hall. Sif , watching him wearily, laid blame upon the entire day, wishing that the night before and her lapse in judgment had never taken place, ignoring the stab of guilt that came when Loki turned his back.

**Author's Note:**

> Please R&R! Feedback of any kind is always appreciated! ;)
> 
> All rights go to their respectful owners.


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